


Hungry?

by thegreatgayjatsby



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Nightmares, Surreal, Will just wants to sleep and not deal with freaky deer and cannibals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 00:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3875530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatgayjatsby/pseuds/thegreatgayjatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Will has yet another nightmare about the dreaded Ravenstag, and wonders how it connects to Hannibal, who want stop asking him if he's hungry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hungry?

**Author's Note:**

> ugh this is so bad i just really like the hannibal aesthetic

Will could hear the morning doves calling out from across the fields surrounding his cabin as he awakened, head stuffed with the cotton of sleep. His mouth was dry, and his neck ached from sleeping in a poorly chosen position. When he sat up to stretch, his bones creaked, and he sighed, rubbing his knees. 

He was too young to be hurting in so many places.

Will stood and shuffled from his bed to the kitchen, switching on his coffee pot and setting up for breakfast. A bagel a day away from its expiration date and a bowl of already stale cereal. He had been too busy lately to go out and perform such menial tasks as grocery shopping. What would Hannibal think of his eating habits? 

A low whine sounded from somewhere behind him, and Will obediently turned, picking his way past furniture and discarded clothing and overturned boots and dogs. He opened the front door, and his pack of dogs headed outside to go to the bathroom. Will scratched the back of his neck absentmindedly, the chill of the early morning mist waking him up more. 

He peered out across the fields, tracking Winston’s progress, and his breath caught in his lungs. Will’s chest was suddenly too-tight, his heart pounding, his hands trembling imperceptibly. 

Adjacent to the head of his driveway, arranged neatly upon the long grass lining the gravel drive, was a stag. Winston snuffled along the beast’s hind leg, then shied away, tail between his legs as he headed back towards his owner. The other dogs came along with him, seemingly upset. As a unit, they were frightened, all riled up as they headed inside. Winston whimpered at Will, trying to urge him back inside, but Will swallowed tightly and toed into a pair of work boots.

Gravel crunched under the soles of his boots as he walked, clad in a white undershirt and a pair of grey boxers, towards the stag. It was definitely dead, fresh, though, as flies had only just begun to congregate around it’s face, searching for the easy access of natural orifices. Will waved his hand above the beast’s head, chasing flies to no avail. They settled again, and Will’s mouth dried out at the sight.

The stag was arranged as if he were bedded down for the night, and it was clear someone had taken the time to set him up in such a manner. Will hesitated, inspecting the antler tips, which had been sawed off with precision, each point completely flat. Briefly, he wondered where they were. 

They seemed to be bleeding from their cores, thick, inky liquid drooling down the shafts of the antlers. Will took a step back. The stag’s neck and withers were lined with dark feathers, painstakingly sewn into the beast’s hide. Will took another step back. 

The stag moved. 

It took a deep, shuddering breath, and bellowed, head tilted up, muzzle pointing skyward. Will stumbled over his own feet and fell squarely on his ass, gravel biting into the heels of his hands as he attempted to catch himself. The stag lurched to its hooves, gathering strength and adjusting its footing before rearing. 

Will barely was able to roll to his side, hands coming up to cover his head, as the stag’s sharp hooves crashed down where his head had been seconds previously. The beast brayed again, then turned and bucked, hind hooves lashing out towards Will again, who curled himself up tighter upon the gravel. 

The stag thundered out across the plain, up to the treeline, where he stood to turn, calling out again. The sound was haunting, and Will looked up, shaking slightly as he watched the beast move. His heart rate was extremely elevated, and he dug his blunt nails into his palms. He hugged himself a little, biting into his lower lip.

The stag turned to wander away, and disappeared into the forest. Will sat on the ground, shaking slightly, and tried to calm his breathing. He squeezed his eyes shut, then crawled to his feet and made his way back to the house, trudging up the drive and trying to ignore what was surely hot breath on the nape of his neck. 

The door closed securely behind him, and he made sure to slide the deadbolt into place. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes hard enough to make little stars explode in front of his vision, then dropped his arms, exhausted.

His stomach lurched again, and he stared at the neatly wrapped parcel on his kitchen table. It was just butcher paper, the size of his fist, and he clenched his hands into fists before stalking up to it, ripping the wrappings off with a jerky movement. Little cigar-shaped, light colored things rolled out. 

They were antler tips. 

A hot puff of breath ghosted over the back of Will’s neck, and his muscles tightened up. A soft voice sounded against the shell of his ear, and Will’s eyes flew open. He shot up in bed, gasping for air, drenched in a cold sweat. The words spoken at the the very last moment of his dream echoed around his head as he fisted his hands in the blankets, panting into the early morning air. 

“Hungry, Will?”


End file.
